Friday, 25 August 2023

The last acceptable prejudice

 



The last acceptable prejudice

I wonder if there is a support in British football with less self-awareness than some of those who follow Rangers? Not content with singing songs which drag the tattered reputation of their club  through the gutter, they resort to a display in a UEFA Champions League qualifier which purports to depict a character from mid-nineteenth century America who was known for his hatred and violence towards Irish Catholics. Ironically enough, it actually depicts Daniel Day Lewis in the film Gangs of New York. An actor who loves Ireland so much that he has lived for years in County Wicklow, but such things don’t compute with the mindset which thought that such a banner was a good idea. Numbskulls need things to be black and white, as shades of grey and contradictions confuse them.

Below this banner the words ‘Surrender or you’ll die’ were stretched along the front of the Broomloan Stand. Few Scots football fans need reminding that this is a line from the ‘Billy Boys,’ a song about a sectarian razor gang from the inter-war years in Glasgow. That working class Scots sing in praise of a fascist and racist group from a century ago is passed off as ‘banter’ by some, but the truth is, it’s pernicious and corrodes common sense. We all know where these public displays of ritualised hatred can lead. Just pop your head into the A&E department of any Glasgow hospital on a day when Rangers play Celtic and you’ll see.

Bill ’the butcher’ Poole was a real man who lived and died in New York in the 19th Century. His nativist (anti-immigrant) leanings led the 200lb pugilist into many violent confrontations. For years, his Bowery Boys gang had a deadly feud with the Irish and German Catholic immigrants in the five points district of New York. He was eventually shot dead by an Irish immigrant. Poole’s political leanings were towards the ‘Know Nothing’ Party, so called because members were encouraged to say, ‘I know nothing’ when questioned by others about the party’s darker side. Abraham Lincoln said of them in a letter…

“As a nation, we began by declaring that 'all men are created equal.' We now practically read it 'all men are created equal, except negroes.' When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read 'all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and Catholics.' When it comes to this, I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty – to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy.’

The Know-Nothings eventually merged into other political movements but that strain of anti-Catholic prejudice has deep roots in America and has only in recent decades begun to fade away.

On this side of the Atlantic, most European countries put religion into the private sphere where it could do little harm. In the UK, the monarch is head of the Church of England and the fact that no Catholic can ascend the throne is a grubby little left-over from England’s own anti-Catholic past and an insult to the 7 million Catholics living in the UK. Scotland’s own latent anti-Catholic fringe were reanimated by the arrival of Irish migrants in large numbers. Bear in mind that under the 1801 Act of Union, Ireland was a part of the UK. These migrants were not technically moving abroad but to another part of the same country.  Conditions on their own island had been made intolerable for them as the Irish colony, for that’s what it was, was run to enrich the landowning classes at the expense of the disenfranchised majority.

Competition for work and houses, rumours of wages being lowered because the Irish would work for less, all contributed to ill feeling. It seemed easier to blame the newcomers than to unite the workers and demand a fair deal for all. It was also convenient for the bosses to keep the workers divided as they were easier to control that way. The fact that Celtic Football Club was formed to help feed the children of this migrant community demonstrates the need must have been great indeed. Rangers initially were among the Celtic club’s warmest friends but things were soon to change.

The arrival of Harland and Wolff’s shipyard on the Clyde brought more strident types to Glasgow from Belfast. Celtic’s domination of Scottish football in the years before World War One was hard for some to swallow. With Rangers fast becoming the main competition for the ‘Irishmen’ Rangers took a more exclusive turn under the guidance of Chairman John Ure Primrose. He led the club until 1923 and saw them become a bastion of ‘Protestants only.’ As absurd as this sounds a century later, it was reflective of the society of the time.

It's equally absurd that the SFA, Scottish League and media said nothing as Rangers practiced this petty apartheid for a lifetime. It was boasted in those days that the three pillars of Scottish society were the church, the law and Glasgow Rangers. Such exceptionalism breeds arrogance and much as Rangers were Scotland’s most successful team until the mid-sixties, the arrival of Jock Stein at Celtic changed it in a manner they have never fully recovered from. For the self-proclaimed ‘people’ to play second fiddle as Celtic swept all before them in the Stein era, was hard to swallow. The sectarian policy Rangers operated then gave tacit approval to the bigots among their support and set the club back decades.  As they desperately strove to emulate Celtic’s European cup win, they accrued a mountain of debt which crushed them in the end.

The new century saw them collapse into liquidation and the formation of a ‘phoenix club’ was a golden opportunity to break with the poison of the past but as Charles Green pandered to the baser elements by saying ‘no surrender’ in a TV interview, we knew it was going to be business as usual. They climbed through the lower leagues like a men’s team in a school league and reached the SPFL in 2016 with the slogan ‘going for 55’ to the fore. Celtic duly won four successive trebles to further dent their superiority complex.

All through this period, graffiti, banners and a variety of unsavoury incidents reminded us that they still had a serious problem with bigotry among their support. It was telling that week in-week out we hear the tired old dirges of the ‘bygone days of yore’ as the SFA, Police and media did nothing. UEFA closing part of a stand for ‘discriminatory chanting’ reminded us that footballing authorities can act. So why don’t they?

It's almost as if anti-Catholic bigotry is the last acceptable prejudice. We saw Church of Scotland minister Stuart McQuarrie, at one time leader of the inter-faith chaplaincy at Glasgow University, stated that Catholics should stop ‘wallowing in their victim status.’ He also described ‘The Fields of Athenry’ as ‘vile, vicious and racist’, absolutely comparable to the unashamedly hate-filled sectarian ‘Famine Song’ Mr McQuarrie is not representative of anyone but himself, but that an educated man can verbalise such absurd views is telling.

The media in Scotland tend to follow the ‘unwritten rule’ when writing about this subject and portray both sides as bad as each other. They and many politicians demonstrate a moral cowardice in the face of bigotry and refuse to call it out in clear language. Their obfuscation and false equivalences cloud the issue and we get nowhere.

As for the ‘Know nothings’ and their stupid banner, they may snigger about a ‘Timplosion’ or ‘meltdown’ or other such juvenile nonsense, but the truth is, they damage their own club with these idiotic displays. I really wish they’d join the rest of us in the 21st century.

Saturday, 19 August 2023

What is to be done?

 


What is to be done?

Watching the two Edinburgh clubs advance in Europe this week should have pleased all who follow Scottish football. I must confess to a quiet, ‘yes!’ when Hearts hit a late winner, partly because it meant extra time was unlikely on a work night and partly because it added to Scotland’s co-efficient. The SPFL is currently ranked 9th among Europe’s 55 leagues and it is this ranking which helped Celtic into the Champions League this season without the need for perilous qualifiers. Hibs did well too although they now face a daunting qualifier with Aston Villa. Whatever happens, they’ll make a few quid and hopefully put up a decent fight.

One thing I noticed about the Hearts match was the fact that the home sections of the stadium were sold out for the game. Indeed, it is said that Hearts have several thousand fans on the waiting list for season tickets although the lack of room for expanding Tynecastle means they may have a long wait. Hibs are averaging around 17,000 at home matches and Aberdeen had a big home support for the visit of Celtic last week and that was encouraging to see.

These three clubs could and should be making the big two work harder in the SPFL. We are now approaching 40 years since a side out-with the Glasgow duopoly won the title here (Aberdeen in 1985) and with each passing season it looks less and less likely that will emulate them. 

It is said that unfettered capitalism leads to power and wealth falling into the hands of fewer and fewer people. We are seeing this at every level of football. In the champions league, the same faces pop up in the last 8 every season and as technically brilliant as some of the teams are, it is getting boring. Now we see clubs from Saudi Arabia spending hundreds of millions of pounds to recruit talent from even the wealthier leagues of Europe. Rumours abound that they will be asking UEFA to admit their teams to competitions like the champions league and given the amount of money they have to spend, who is to say it won’t ever happen?

There is no little irony in English fans bleating about cheque book Saudi clubs when they have plundered the world’s footballing talent using their TV billions for decades. Currently around 64% of the players in the EPL are foreigners, lured there by the big paycheques. The current TV deal for the English Premiership is £1,632,000,000 (£1.632b)  per season. Scottish football will earn £30m for live matches shown in the 2023-24 season. The BBC pays the SPFL £2.8m to show highlights on Sportscene. The same BBC pays the EPL £68m per year to show highlights on match of the day. Indeed, Gary Lineker earns £1.35m for presenting the show. Thus, the vicious circle of the rich getting richer and the poor falling further behind goes on.

Fans out-with the big two in Scotland will say with some truth that the same thing is happening here, albeit on a smaller scale. They troop along to matches each season with no realistic hope of winning the title and only the prospect of a cup run to give them a glimmer of silver. Celtic has won 5 trebles in the past 7 seasons and much as I’ve enjoyed that success, I really do want to see our league return to the days when four or five clubs started the season with hopes of giving winning the title a real go.

It’s no fluke that our clubs did best in Europe when our league was more competitive. In the 25 years from 1960-1985 Scotland had 7 different champions (Hearts, Rangers, Dundee, Celtic, Dundee United, Aberdeen and Kilmarnock) and our clubs regularly did well in Europe. In the past 25 years we have had 2 champions, (though some argue 3 following Rangers’ demise & the new club arriving) with Celtic winning 18 of those titles. Despite a couple of creditable runs in the UEFA cup, Scottish clubs have failed to make any real impression in the Champions League for years now. Indeed, last season, Rangers were officially the worst UCL side of all time.

Of course, football has changed hugely since Scottish clubs were feared in Europe. Clubs no longer split gate receipts 50-50 as was the case back then. The Bosman ruling in 1995 meant that players could run down their contracts and leave a club. In days past clubs like Dundee United and Aberdeen could retain players for years and build a decent side. Those days are gone forever, as are the times when it was said there was a good footballer up every close in Glasgow.

So, what is to be done to make Scottish football more competitive? I have heard suggestions such as splitting TV money evenly among all the clubs in the top division. Some even suggest pooling all money paid by UEFA to Scottish clubs each season and sharing it evenly among all top flight clubs for the good of the game. Reducing the senior game to two leagues of around 16 clubs and depositing the rest in the pyramid system below this has been mooted. All of this is highly unlikely to happen as the member clubs would need to vote for it and Turkeys do not vote for Christmas. The single biggest thing which might bring true competition back to the Scottish Premiership is for Celtic and Rangers to leave.

The Champions League is evolving into a more recognisable league format in the years ahead and it remains possible that a European League may emerge with several divisions within it. That seems to be the most likely scenario in the next couple of decades. The rumblings about a breakaway league some years back, has spurred UEFA to act. At the end of the day, they want to keep control on this money-making machine.

In leagues all over Europe the wealth is accruing in the hands of a few big clubs and competition is suffering. The ‘Scottish disease’ of the big boys monopolising the trophies is spreading. We see Bayern Munich on ten in a row in Germany, Juventus did nine in a row in Italy, Manchester City have won five of the last 6 EPL titles and the Barca/Madrid duopoly in Spain have won 19 of the past 23 titles. Although football can be an unpredictable and passionate game, the reality is that the gap between the haves and have nots has never been wider. Unless there is some form of redistribution of wealth, this gap will only grow.

Just as Scottish football’s smaller sides look to the league cup draw this coming week and hope to avoid the big two, so too our two biggest clubs will (should Rangers make it) await the Champions league draw with some trepidation. At both national and international level, football’s food chain is marked and obvious. The big fish come from the leagues with the huge TV deals. Money is the deciding factor in the modern game.

I love Scottish football. It has a rawness that many money bloated leagues have lost. I wish I had the answer to making it more competitive, but the honest truth is I don’t. It’s now 39 years since Alex Ferguson led Aberdeen to the title. It could be another 39 till they do it again if nothing changes.

I’m open to suggestions.

 

 

Saturday, 12 August 2023

Larsson and Bloody Mary

 


Larsson and Bloody Mary

Joe closed the laptop and looked his brother Eddie, ‘that’s it done. Two tickets for the match at fifty euros a pop aff the UEFA site and two return flights to Spain at sixty bar.’ Eddie Doyle looked him, ‘beating Stuttgart at home disnae mean we’re making the final. We’re not even in the quarters and you’re gambling on Celtic going all the way? We’ve no’ been in a European final for 33 years.’ Joe smiled at his brother, ‘Oh ye of little faith! I feel it in my blood, Eddie, we’re going all the way this year.’ Eddie shrugged, ‘I’ll go halfs wi ye. I guess we can flog the tickets if we get papped oot.’ Joe nodded, ‘we’ll call it a ton, bro. Best hundred quid you’ve ever spent.’

Joe and Eddie joined 10,000 other Celtic fans in the Gottlieb Daimler Stadium on a chilly February night and watched Celtic race into a 2-0 lead in 15 minutes. Alan Thompson and Chris Sutton were on target as Didier Agathe terrorised the German defence with his pace. With the tie at 5-1 on aggregate, Celtic were not going to blow it now. The away fans were ecstatic and bounced and sang till they were hoarse. The Hoops gave their fans some anxious moments but saw it over the line. Celtic were in the last 8!

The Hoffbrau Bierkeller was full of Celtic fans celebrating their victory in the tie and the Erdinger was flowing like water. Eddie and Joe were in the company of some German Celts from Hamburg. ‘Did you know that stadium we played in tonight,’ one of them began in excellent English, ‘was once called the Adolf Hitler Kampfbahn?’ Joe looked at him incredulously, ‘really? And what does ‘kampfbahn’ mean?’ The big German replied with a serious face, ‘it means battlefield.’ He then smiled as the band started playing an Irish song, ‘anyway, fuck Hitler and fuck the nazis!’ Eddie raised his beer, ‘I’ll drink to that pal.’ They sang and drank till 1am, when their taxi arrived to take them to the airport for the dawn flight back to Scotland.

Joe Doyle watched the UEFA delegate draw the teams for the quarter finals of the UEFA Cup. ‘Give us the Turks or Panathinaikos!’ he muttered as the draw began. The first ball came out of the large fishbowl they used on such occasions… ‘Celtic!’ ‘Come on said Joe, Turkey or Greece!’ The next kinder egg was drawn from the bowl…. ‘will play… Liverpool.’  His face didn’t know where to laugh or cry. This was a tough assignment but then Martin O’Neill’s side had already dumped some tough teams out of Europe. His phone lit up as Eddie called, ‘did ye see the draw, Fannybaws? We’ll get two good nights out anyway but the odds ain’t good.’  Joe remained an optimist though, ‘they’re not the team they used to be. We can roll them if we get a lead in the first leg.’  Eddie looked at him, ‘heart ruling the head, Joe, but we’ll see.’

Celtic Park hummed with anticipation on a dark March night as 60,000 fans crammed in to watch the ‘battle of Britain.’ Gerry Marsden led the crowd in a booming rendition of you’ll never walk alone and then it was show-time. John Hartson and Henrik Larsson terrorised the Liverpool defence in the opening period. First Larsson kneed home a goal in under two minutes, then Hartson hit the bar with a dipping shot, before fizzing a thunderbolt just over. Liverpool were rocking as the huge Celtic support were worked into a frenzy. Then, just as the game settled, the Celtic defence slept as Heskey raced through to arrow a low shot past Douglas. The game ebbed and flowed from then on in but there were no more goals. Celtic trooped off to applause from their fans who knew the team had given their all.

As Joe and Eddie trooped along the Gallowgate they were realistic about their chances at Anfield. ‘We played well tonight, showed we can get behind them, but we’ll need to be good to win down there,’ Joe said. Eddie for once was the more optimistic of the two, ‘we could have been two or three up in the first ten minutes. We can beat them if the defence disnae dae anything daft.’ They both knew Celtic were the underdogs now but this Celtic team had cojones, they’d give it 100% at Anfield.

A week later the brothers squeezed into the Tollbooth Bar to watch the match from Merseyside. The mood was confident among the fans, especially after the first few minutes when it was clear Celtic were up for the fight. They gave as good as they got as Liverpool seemed content to sit on 0-0 having the away goal from Glasgow. Just before half time, Celtic won a free kick 25 yards from goal. ‘Leave it Thompson, let Larsson hit it,’ Eddie shouted at the TV screen. Three seconds later he was locked in a wild embrace with a total stranger as Alan Thompson smashed the ball home. The pub exploded with joy! Celtic were in the lead.

‘Just hang in there, Celtic!’ Joe shouted as the second half began, but Celtic continued to press and harry Liverpool. As the game entered the final ten minutes, the tension was unbearable. One slip would mean extra-time. Then in happened. Joe watched it unfold as if in slow motion, John Hartson picked up a pass outside the penalty box and sidestepped a feeble looking tackle. As the brothers watched, he unleashed a thunderbolt of a shot which flashed past Dudek in the Liverpool goal and almost burst the net. ‘Yaaassssssssss!’ Joe roared, ‘ya big, beautiful, sexy, Welsh bastard ye!’ The brothers hugged and fell to the floor of the pub as fans jumped and danced all around them. It was mayhem, it was epic, it was chaotic, it was victory!

Joe glanced at the TV, ‘I’d rather avoid Lazio and Porto. I think Boavista are the best bet?’ His brother nodded, ‘we’re so close to this final, Joe. I’m starting to believe you were right, this year is a special one.’ As the draw came through, Joe smiled. Lazio v Porto and Celtic v Boavista. ‘Bring it on,’ he smiled.

Boavista Oporto were without a doubt the most cynical, time-wasting, play acting bunch of charlatans either brother had seen at Celtic Park in their time watching Celtic. They fell over at every opportunity, took an eternity with kick outs and throw ins and to cap it all took the lead from a freaky own goal. The tension seemed to be getting to Celtic as their support got increasingly tetchy. Larsson gave Celtic a massive boost by equalising but 15 minutes from time he missed a penalty. It was a hugely frustrating night for Celtic who had squandered chances and now faced a trip to Portugal with their hopes hanging by a thread.

The two brothers were mentally and physically drained by the match but that was nothing compared to what was to come in Porto a fortnight later. Celtic were stifled by the Portuguese side who seemed happy to sit on their away goal and slow the game down at every opportunity. It was a turgid and frustrating game to watch. As Joe and Eddie sat on the living room floor, their family crowded on the couches behind them, it looked as if the team had finally run out of steam. ‘Come on Celtic! Wan goal, wan fecking goal!’ Eddie roared in frustration. His granny Maggie approached the tv from behind him with something in her hand. ‘Ott the road, I cannae see the game. What ye doin’ granny?’ Joe asked, ‘I got this in Portugal ten years back, Noo’s the time tae use it.’ As they watched, she unscrewed the lid of a plastic statue of the Virgin Mary she had got on a trip to Fatima and splashed holy water on the tv. Eddie looked at Joe , who shrugged. ‘It cannae hurt?’ Joe shook his head, ‘it can if she fuses the feckin telly!’

As the grey-haired matriarch sat down again, all eyes focussed on the TV in time to see a Boavista defender tackle John Hartson. The ball spun towards Henrik Larsson who scuffed his shot somewhat but the ball spun over the despairing gloves of goalkeeper Ricardo and into the net. The modest house in Glasgow, like so many around the country and indeed the world, exploded with joy!  Eddie embraced his wee granny, ‘ye did Maggie, you and bloody Mary!’ His granny had tears in her eyes, ‘I telt ye tae trust me. Noo, no more of yer blaspheming or ye’ll get a bat on the jaw!’

The game dragged agonisingly on for a further fifteen minutes before the referee whistled for the end. Celtic had done it! They had made it to their first European final in 33 years. The Doyle’s drank and sang long into the night and Joe passed the tickets around the family as if they were precious works of art. ‘We’re going to Seville!’ he smiled at his brother. Eddie nodded, ‘I never believed it would happen but fair play to you, bro. Those tickets will be worth a fortune now.’ Joe sipped his beer, ‘aye, but they’re not for sale. Not at any price.

No one could guess what the final would bring, they were happy just to enjoy the night. Their magical football club and its amazing support were off for another adventure.